Four months into the Room of Spirit and Time, and Trunks regretted not having clippers in her toiletries. Her hair had grown past her ears in a poor excuse of a bob, and it was at that annoying length. Too short to tie, too long to be ignored. And it was far too silky to stay behind her ears, so she just figured she'd get it cut once out. The first thing she'd do, actually. No, the second thing. First thing was destroying Cell and the Cyborgs. A dark smile appeared on her face while she was sitting in bed, in her pajamas, procrastinating on changing (every minute out of the binder was a blessing). She measured with her fingers the length of hair she'd grown in those four months, then doubled the measure and put it under her current length to extrapolate how long her hair would be once the full year was over. Way past her shoulders. 'Oh Eighteen is going to be mad when I kill her if my hair is that long,' she mused with a sinister look. 'And I will get to do it twice.'
After the bath incident, she spent the past two months focused on trying to deal with her Saiyan side and beat super Saiyan into submission, one of which she also spent fighting almost-daily with Vegeta in the form (much to his pleasure). It all had rubbed off on her. She deeply desired blood, and she got it, but there was still this voice at the back of her mind telling her this wasn't right. And she agreed with that voice. It was eating at her essence, and she tried to contain it one way or another. She just put it on the back burner at every fight, and expressed her self-hatred by beating Vegeta sensessly. And Vegeta returned the beatings with just as much fervor if not more so. It wasn't exactly healthy, but damn it felt good. She even found some pride in herself whenever Vegeta gave up first (though it was like pulling teeth), she was at the very least getting better at fighting him.
She wrote down every two days in the notebooks, using that time to let her cool-headed side analyze more of her (and Vegeta's) progress, and convincing herself it was what needed to be done. She used the notebook she assigned to herself as a sort of journal too, writing down some of her thoughts, and read her previous entries every week to draw conclusions. There was no hard data she could measure and compare, so 'measuring progress' wasn't easy. She tried comparing Vegeta's punches to the Cyborgs', but she wasn't great at judging whether it was because she got more resilient or more used to the pain, or because Vegeta got stronger, or a combination of both. Was she getting faster as well as Vegeta, or did they reach a plateau? She could only objectively measure how long their fights lasted, so measuring progress with her flawed ki sensing, which naturally compared to her own, reached its limits. Starting month five, she stopped documenting 'progress', and just focused on writing down wins, losses and combat lengths.
She took notice that Vegeta's hair hadn't grown at all. She only took a proper shower when the Prince was sound asleep to avoid another incident. That conversation and those events she couldn't dare write down, else they'd be cemented in reality. She needed to forget that day, and thankfully Vegeta didn't bring it up either. The man wasn't exactly a kind person, but at least he wasn't cruel in that way. Trunks knew she was eating crumbs of whatever positive light she could see her would-be father in, but at least it was something. It was pathetic and she knew it.
It had also been two months since she washed Vegeta's clothes, and put them back near his bed, but the Prince didn't change out of the outfit she'd lent (given?) him. Clearly the man had been used to wearing whatever for ages, and considering the material of the blue ensemble he wore, it did the trick just fine. It was a strange, extremely resilient material, and clearly meant to be worn weeks on end. Hers wasn't as durable, but it was durable enough, which was probably why Vegeta hadn't discarded them, yet. She'd have to tell her mother about it.
The bread she'd been making also got a little better than 'slightly above edible', which made general meals somewhat more enjoyable (or was it a matter of getting used to the blandness?), the Senzu powder working wonders to keep the two fighters in shape. A voice in her mind told her the other could at least show some appreciation or gratitude, but she shut that down quickly. She couldn't afford to expect validation or kindness from Vegeta. His harshness was a necessary component of her ability to go back home, to not be envious, to not want anything she knew she could never have. 'He eats it, that's enough proof that I am doing something well. Do not get attached, Trunks.'
Eventually, Trunks took a break from fighting during the fifth month for a solid week, she needed to catch up on training her mind and control, and when she tried to apologize to Vegeta, he just flew away saying he didn't need her. She spent a couple of hours a day trying to perform the Mafuba on a pillow, near the living quarters, using as little energy as she could. She'd done it a couple of times every month since their arrival, just to keep the technique fresh in her mind, but she needed to practice more often. Her ki management wasn't a priority, worst case scenario she'd just use too much of it to secure the hold on her target. As long as she succeeded, her and her mother's initial mission would be a success: one timeline at peace. Sure it would be nice if she could save her world too, but both Trunks and Bulma had made peace with their incoming deaths, as grim as it sounded. That didn't mean either of them was ready to go without fighting and giving it their all, however.
The teenager spent a good part of the week binder-free, hiding in a larger button up shirt and a tank top, since Vegeta had taken his longer rest a little before her break from fighting, she knew he wouldn't be back for at least three days. When extending her arm to reach something in the pantry, she noticed the sleeves were slightly shorter than the last time she wore that particular shirt. She took a moment to readjust the binders to match her growth. When taking the time to read her past journaling, she noticed something grim, grimmer than usual, and she slowly realized she'd grown darker over time. Hopelessness was claiming her, and she realized she needed to fight against that side of herself as well. She wrote down the word Hope and scribbled down part of her past negative thoughts. 'Mother and I were wrong, we can still save our world, and I won't let my despair win. Else Gohan-san's sacrifice will have been for nothing, I must honor his memory.'
The last two weeks of the fifth month were brutal, Vegeta wasn't satisfied anymore and got more vicious, both physically and with his words. He'd been more on edge than usual over the past month, and Trunks couldn't see the reason; they were finally fighting in super Saiyan, it's what he wanted, right?
"This is pathetic, brat!" He had forced Trunks out of the super Saiyan form after a particularly powerful Galick Gun which ended an hours-long fight.
Except Vegeta didn't want to end that fight, he'd had enough of half-assed efforts, and today was going to be the day. Before the teenager could react, Vegeta had his left arm around her neck, his hand securing her right arm behind her back, and his pull forced her down on her knees. Her shoulder cracked, and she bit herself into silence as she'd done countless times before. She stayed tense, trying to find a way to break the hold, but without actually fighting it off, yet.
"You've not fought to win since you got here," he scolded with obvious distaste, and pressed her arm higher against her back, making the articulation crack again, drawing a hiss through her teeth. She knew he'd been observing her as much as she observed him, if not more so, but 'fighting to win' was a strange statement to make. She did win some of their fights, didn't she?
"You've been insulting me," Vegeta's grip tightened. That would leave bruises on her wrist and back. Trunks did her best to ignore the pain, to register what Vegeta tried to communicate, but she was unable to make the effort of listening to the message and not the words any longer. Vegeta never made any effort, and he wasn't about to make things easier.
"If you don't do anything, your head's going to snap," he growled and pulled on her neck to make a point that he could. She started not feeling the pain anymore. Or was it her nervous system shutting down? He hadn't dropped super Saiyan, and the memory of her doing the exact same thing to him when they first fought struck her. Her vision started to fade, she clenched her fists, trying to test just how much strength was the older applying, and see how she could break away before passing out. She knew she wouldn't be able to do so without tapping into super Saiyan again, but summoning that strength now didn't look exactly in the realm of possibility.
"You like your chains so much that you'd rather die than break them?" Vegeta was growing impatient. "Your wench of a mother will be thrilled to find out she raised such a-"
Whatever Vegeta was saying, he couldn't finish. Trunks got a sudden surge of motivation, didn't hesitate to push herself back to hit Vegeta's face with the back of her head, then push herself forward, without flinching at the maintained hold on her arm. She couldn't match the superior strength of super Saiyan, but the surprise of the hit combined with the sudden adrenaline rush was enough to push through, at the cost of a dislocated shoulder. She rolled forward and stood back up, holding her arm, and with a gesture she'd done at least twice before, she put the bone back in its place.
Vegeta finished rubbing the blood off his face from the sudden effort to break from his arguably weak hold. He let it happen, after all. He saw eyes turn teal, a bloody snarl, clenched and bloody fists. 'Finally,' he thought, finally he had gotten under the teenager's skin, he'd been trying for months but the god damn brat just kept calm through everything. 'A Saiyan with no pride and no survival instinct, but mental defenses made of steel and almost absolute control. Almost.'
"You do not get to insult my mother," she spat the blood in her mouth, blood she drew when biting away the agony overwhelming her senses, while her hair slowly rose under whatever strength she had left to summon.
He smirked with arrogance and flared his aura to taunt the other. "You're a coward, you fled! I thought you were strong-" He deflected the incoming blast with a wider grin. 'It's time to burn that fortress to the ground.'
Trunks couldn't summon super Saiyan, but that didn't keep her from launching herself against the offending party with a cry of rage and despair. And like she'd done when Vegeta tried attacking her until exhaustion, Vegeta just blocked, deflected, and used her own strength against her. But unlike her, Vegeta took pleasure in the humiliation, and taunted verbally every single time he could.
"Look at you- the super Saiyan who killed Freeza in someone else's name," he kept both her fists in his hands while searching her eyes for more, and mocked openly. "But can't take care of god forsaken washing machines. Can't protect the doxy you so dearly love."
"You keep her out of your mouth!" Trunks' patience had run out, the mental toll of trying to understand her would-be father was too much to keep up in the face of unyielding rage and hatred, which fed the golden aura that finally took over her.
Instead of pushing forward with her fists, considering the strength applied by both parties in the lock, she pulled back, successfully guessing Vegeta's push wouldn't stop immediately, nor that he would release her before her knee connected to his gut, and jumped out of his guard so he'd not follow up. The older Saiyan spat blood; he didn't expect his heir to still have that much strength left, but he was thrilled with the new round.
She heard his sadistic laugh and a moment later, they were back in a deadlock, this time Trunks holding Vegeta's fists.
"You said you needed no one." He hissed at her, and pulled one arm back and the other forward, to break the lock and knee her open guard. She lowered her arm to catch the hit and jumped back to avoid the following kick.
"But you're waiting for someone to save your world, all of your allies dying because you aren't strong enough to protect them," he continued and deflected another blast. That one burnt his skin, though. 'That's some progress, break them!'
"Things could've been different if you hadn't failed us!" She spat back venom, and launched another blast, which she followed closely behind. She hoped Vegeta would deflect it, opening his guard, so she could punch the smirk out of his face. The strategy worked, but Vegeta took the hit and returned it in the form of a back slap across her face, sending her away. She rolled on the ground when she landed, then stood back up, growling through the pain, her vision blurry with blood and exhaustion.
"No one is going to save you and your hussy," he extended his hand towards her, charging a ki blast.
She roared in rage, and with both hands on her forehead, she screamed 'Masenko' and launched the named attack to obliterate the ki blast Vegeta threw at her. Vegeta jumped out of the way, recognizing the attack Gohan had used against Nappa a few years prior. Trunks knowing that attack was something he would have to question later, as right now the raged halfling was higher on the priority list. The second Masenko he had to guard against, but it wasn't as powerful as it could have been due to Trunks' exhaustion.
The time traveler was too overwhelmed to keep her composure. In that precise moment, she wanted Vegeta dead, and nothing would stop her from achieving that goal. She had blacked out, super Saiyan fully taking over her body and mind to reach her immediate desire to kill the offending asshole who had gone too far.
Vegeta braced himself for impact. This was what he had tried to achieve for so long, eroding Trunks' barriers for months, but nothing had worked. Trunks did get angry, but regained control and defused easily or just took the abuse without flinching. The kid had been far too resilient and calm, it had become an attrition war to tear at that strength, but he'd finally found the right tool, and he was going to strike while the iron was hot, with no reserves as there was a breach in his heir's defenses.
"It's deep in your blood, go and take it!" He shouted between hits, but Trunks was gone. No pupils, no iris, just pure rage and tears. Vegeta was delighted to see how his offspring pushed through pain to make him shut up, and he had to get serious to make sure he'd survive the situation he got himself into. "Tear all those shackles off, brat. You're the one pulling yourself down!" he insisted.
Eventually and after a few more painful and less-than-polite exchanges, Trunks collapsed unconscious, out cold from the lengthy effort, the pain, the energy drain, the emotional turmoil, and a misuse of an uncontrollable power. Vegeta wasn't exactly looking better, he couldn't maintain super Saiyan anymore, but he had much better control of his energy and outlasted his kid's rage burst. He'd even feared for his life on a couple of occasions, but the brat was already exhausted before the buttons finally worked. He walked closer to his would-be future alternate kid and crouched closer to make sure the other was out for good.
"Now your burdens are ashes, you're going to rise," he pulled his heir up by the shirt to be able to put first his left arm behind Trunks' shoulders, and the right one under the legs. He then stood up, carrying the teenager in his arms, to fly back to the living quarters. Vegeta knew Trunks was taller and heavier than him, but seeing the little pained squirms and the sudden grip on his clothes made him realize the kid was younger than he had first judged.
He tried dropping Trunks on the bed, but the kid's grip didn't allow it. 'There's no use fighting a Saiyan who doesn't want to let go,' he remarked, even when he tried prying the hands off of him, he was unsuccessful. Trunks didn't let go, half unconscious, half asleep, and tense. Nightmares, Vegeta guessed from experience and from having felt the teen's ki spike during some naps. He'd have to wait it out, so he sat on the bed, back against the wall, and repositioned the child on his lap, head on his shoulder. Might as well get somewhat comfortable since he had no idea how long he'd have to wait until the kid finally relaxed.
The Prince did some mental math from the information he did know. He didn't bother to understand earthling calendars, their ideas of months and years didn't match the ones from planet Vegeta, nor the intergalactic timekeeping system, and with all of the exceptions and special names, his translating chip hadn't adjusted to everything yet. He knew from the PTO data that Earth had a moon that became full once every twenty-eight earthling days (he'd noted that once converted in intergalactic standard, that translated to one twentieth of one of Planet Vegeta's years); and that it roughly corresponded to an earthling month. Even if Kakarot got rid of the moon prior to his and Nappa's arrival. He had a decent feel of how much an earthling year was (a little over twelve moon-months), but any given number of years didn't give him a sense of scale yet. However, that up-close, Vegeta realized just how young the brat truly was. Especially when Trunks' hands gripped desperately at his skin, scratching and drawing blood, like a child looking for comfort. And he figured that being a half-breed, Trunks' growth pattern was clearly different from a pure-blooded Saiyan, so he couldn't use height and weight as any age indicator. 'Stupid earthling genes,' he scoffed.
He remembered Trunks' 'earthling' age of sixteen (or rather, seventeen, since they spent half a year in the white void already). 'A full year on planet Vegeta would be twenty Earth moon-months. If twelve of those make an Earthling year, that means this brat is.. about eleven.' Not an adult yet, but competent and autonomous enough to fight. Vegeta had a dry chuckle remembering just how little power he himself had at that age. The mental strength was beyond anything he'd seen any Saiyan possess, and that remained a mystery. Earthlings weren't as resilient either. It took him all this time in the strange dimension to finally break the shields, and even then, he was unsure whether Trunks would rise without the shackles, or rebuild them, trading freedom for comfort.
'Exactly like Kakarot's brat,' he observed. He remembered the sudden power surge the little kid had had against Raditz, which registered on his and Nappa's scouter back then, as well as when he fought Nappa after the Namekian's death, using that 'Masenko' technique he had just witnessed again. Half-breeds had the potential to be stronger than pure-blooded Saiyans when pushed to their emotional breaking points, Vegeta was now sure of it. Neither had pulled punches, for once, Trunks had finally fought to win, to kill even, and that finally made him see his offspring as a Saiyan. Despite the odd colors.
Usually Trunks gave up long before unconsciousness, and approaching a sleeping Saiyan was a great way to lose a hand. Right then and there, Vegeta had the opportunity to touch his heir, and he was going to seize the chance. The older Saiyan pushed the lavender locks out of the kid's face to observe it. Probably one of the softest touches he ever gave anyone. The bruises had started healing, but the dry blood was still there. Trunks frowned and tried shifting away, so Vegeta took off his gloves and placed one on the closed eyes to shield them from the bright light. He put back his gloveless left hand on the shoulder, to hold the sleeping child more or less in place.
'It's not stable, but it's finally out. You'd better make it yours and bear it now,' he gave a slight hesitant pat on the arm, then slid his fingers on the kid's neck to measure the pulse. Slightly faster than his own, but not as fast as an earthlings' (or at least the wench's). He knew about the piece of cloth Trunks usually wore underneath whatever shirt, and how when given the change of clothes he was wearing now, Trunks didn't give him that garment. He touched the back, and felt some sort of thicker material. He didn't understand why the brat chose that piece of cloth, but he wasn't curious nor interested enough to ask. Earthlings had strange clothing choices and rituals, after all, even if so far he'd not seen others wear anything similar. The woman often wore something for her breasts, an object he'd grown to despise whenever they got together, but clearly despite the similar location, that garment (thin, decorated, textured, revealing) and this garment (thick, covering) had different roles. His fingers trailed a moment on some of the battle scars he could see on the kid's left arm, the limb where he could see the most skin. Almost all of the markings were caused by ki. The kid winced and tensed under the touch, nails drew more blood. Vegeta ignored it with ease. Some scars were old, but clearly the memories were still fresh. 'All from losses,' he concluded.
Then, after a solid hour of patience, something that was first masked by the smell of fresh blood came to his senses, a scent he remembered from when the kid carried him back when they fought for the first time in this strange void. He needed to make sure he didn't imagine things, so he leaned a little forward, stuck his nose in the kid's hair, and took a good breath in to get a proper taste of the scent he perceived. Whatever bathing products the kid had used in the previous days had washed off and left Vegeta with all of the displeasure of getting the proper natural aroma of his would-be kid. He recognized it for what it was and cursed silently with a deep scowl. He didn't want to deal with any of that. 'No wonder Kakarot's brat was all over you.' He wondered whether either of the two other Saiyans had caught the scent, and remembered that Trunks mentioned Kakarot's bath-sharing invitation. "Another reason to kill off Kakarot for good," he whispered with deep disdain.
Eventually the grip loosened, the time traveler finally fell fully asleep, and Vegeta took the opportunity to reclaim his freedom. He pushed slowly then rolled the kid off of him and on the bed covers, and took back his glove on his way. He pulled the curtains and went to eat some of that healing bread. 'Unlike the others, the brat is at least trying to listen. We'll have to talk.' The prospect of talking wasn't a pleasant one, but he figured he needed to treat the kid as an actual kid and try and use some of those earthling communication methods. He wasn't looking forward to that in any shape or form, but he was the only living individual with any knowledge of Saiyan culture.
Trunks woke up a few hours later, sore, in pain and initially lost. The nightmare she was having faded off, only the bitter impression, the cold sweats and the tears remained. She didn't remember falling asleep in her clothes, nor reaching her bed, nor flying back to the living quarters. She sat up and rubbed her face, then saw her hands all dirty with dried blood, including under her nails. Her waking state started to retrace everything back to her last memories and work from there. ' I fought father.. Vegeta-san.' She grumbled a little and corrected her mind, checked the time, and slowly pulled the curtains to get herself out of bed. 'I fought him, then.. he didn't stop.' She moved her right arm a little and went on to touch her shoulder articulation. 'Dislocated,' she remembered. It still hurt, but the initial shock had worn off. Trunks put both feet on the ground, sitting on the bed, and slowly stood up. She didn't have anything broken, but better be safe than sorry. 'He insulted Mother,' she traced back some words still imprinted in her memory, but the order of events was fuzzy, but the anger she felt, she remembered well. Hunger and soreness didn't help, so she needed to eat before giving those events the attention they deserved.
"I felt your ki spike, brat, get moving," Trunks just about jumped out of her skin when she heard Vegeta, but quickly found herself leaving the sleeping quarters in search for the voice. The living areas. Vegeta only used that place to eat, and he was at the table. He pointed at the plate with bread and toppings across from him, his was already empty.
"Sit, eat," he ordered, but Trunks just stared through him with newfound hatred. She didn't register the dry blood on his body, the scratch marks on his shoulders and arms. She wanted to sucker punch him so hard it hurt and she kept imagining the scene until the need for food actually won and she went to her plate, finally breaking eye contact. She didn't sit.
"I said sit," Vegeta's voice was commanding, and she looked back at him with defiance, chewing a piece of bread. Trunks didn't like being ordered around by anyone, her natural instinct was to fight it, but something felt odd. She tried to push aside the memories of that voice which had angered her so much. This was a strange behavior, and she was curious as to why Vegeta waited for her and now wanted them to sit together at the table. So she sat, and swallowed her mouthful.
"Everyone on this forsaken mudball of a planet lacks finesse. I will try to spell things more explicitly for you." Trunks nodded and spread more topping on some bread. She'd usually have taken the time to wash her hands and face, but food and a Vegeta with a dose of good faith just took priority. She drank some water, the headache from dehydration being a bother to understand what Vegeta was telling her.
"No one is going to save your world," he started, and when she tensed and raised up to fight him there and then, he lifted his hand and indicated down again, continuing his thought. "That's your responsibility. It's why you came here, to surpass super Saiyan and destroy the washing machines." True to his word, he was being more explicit. And slowly, she started reading through the behavior Vegeta had displayed up until now. 'Oh. He was training me. That takes tough love to a whole other level.' She properly sat down and started eating the second piece of bread after putting a whole lot of protein-filled toppings on it, listening.
"You're a Saiyan, you're my heir, and you will win." Talk about being explicit. Trunks found herself red in the face, she felt as if this was praise, and she looked away. "No, you look at me." Damn it. She looked back after swallowing her next bite, trying not to flinch under the bluntness of the Prince, and those black unblinking alien eyes. She usually never had an issue meeting someone's gaze, including Vegeta's, but this time it was different. And yet something bothered her in the praise.
"I'm not your-"
"Different universes, you're not the baby, you weren't born, blah blah blah." He rolled his eyes. Trunks knew Vegeta had understood the whole conversation they had after she and Piccolo fought Cell. "I don't care about any of that. And neither do you, actually," he said with a pointed look. "I didn't abandon you, but your mind still equates the 'Vegeta from your world' to me, because these 'metaphysics' things are beyond our instincts to comprehend. My blood and your blood already acknowledged our kinship. Fighting it is a waste of energy."
She knew Vegeta was smart, and him wording it all out like that only made her more conscious of that fact. He was also much more pragmatic and able to discard useless worries than she was, and at that moment, she admired that ability. Vegeta never doubted and never looked back. She nodded to show she'd heard, and took another slice of bread. The soreness in her muscles had all but disappeared with the previous two pieces of senzu-bread and filling toppings.
"You're shackled by the chains you made for yourself, but you broke those chains earlier. You'd better not restrain yourself again."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she admitted a little low. Since he said he'd spell everything, at least admitting she didn't understand what he was trying to say was better than acting as if she got the message and then suffer the backlash. Even if Vegeta twitched in anger and cursed at the communication issue and blatant ignorance. He took a deep breath in, then out. How to explain it...
"You don't like fighting." She confirmed the observation with a frown. She knew Vegeta despised that aspect. "And you don't like using super Saiyan." She nodded again with a little pained expression. "That's because of your weakling earthling side. But you still go and fight whenever you can. You want to fight. Freeza and Cold, The Namekian, Kakarot, me."
Trunks thought about it. She guessed 'Cold' was the name of the big guy that was with Freeza, considering Vegeta had listed the fights Trunks had in order in which he witnessed them. She first killed the two aliens, then she fought Piccolo in base, then she sparred with Son Goku (including when she stayed at his place during her first trip; Vegeta must have felt their clashes), and then when she stayed at Capsule Corp, she did test her resilience against Vegeta. Uh. Vegeta read her realization.
"That's your Saiyan blood. You suppress it and keep it under chains. Chained or not, you still jumped at the blonde bitch. You don't back down, you don't feel fear. And I see the years of losses against your stupid washing machines on you." The look full of questions at the phrasing had Vegeta frown. He said he'd spell things, so he just sighed and decided to go with what he promised. "Your arms, your hands, You have battle scars. I'm certain you have far more under those clothes."
Trunks looked confused, then looked at her own hands and forearms. She never saw those scars, she always thought she healed remarkably well. It was no secret that she had faced the Cyborgs many times; she mentioned it when she first talked to everyone, but Vegeta's comment was strange.
"You have earthling eyesight, but I can see them." Vegeta added, seeing the kid look for what he just mentioned and failing at seeing the scars. He had found out earthlings had different eyesight, but he could see the subtle differences in coloration.
"Mother never told me this about Saiyans," she looked back up at the older Saiyan, curious and fascinated.
"I never had a reason to tell her, and Kakarot probably hasn't noticed his eyes are different from his weakling friends'. If his eyes even have that ability, because he's third-class and he got a head injury as an infant." Vegeta was spiteful when talking about Goku, but that wasn't a surprise to Trunks.
"Gohan-san probably has that eyesight," she realized with wonder. Her version of him as well as the version of him in this world both had keen eyes, able to notice even the faintest things. Gohan had always been exceptional at foraging, for instance, finding the Dragon Ball, finding the Time Machine, finding berries, finding where Trunks hid when she played hookey. Vegeta found that piece of information interesting, but he put it aside.
"You don't like fighting, but you want to fight. Your weakling side doesn't let you fight to win, you fight to buy time, to survive, to be saved." Vegeta rephrased the earlier observations with a certain disdain. "But earlier you finally broke through your own chains. You fought to win, to kill, and surpassed super Saiyan."
Trunks frowned, finishing her third toast. Little by little, the memories had come back, or at least some images and some of the words she'd heard, and those words she said herself. She leaned back on her chair, crossing her own arms and giving it her memories another go.
"You said you'd carve your own path as a half-breed."
"I did say that." Trunks gave a confident smile, even if she tried her best to forget the circumstances in which she made that statement.
"And your 'Bulma-fucking-Brief' brain has an idea on how?"
Trunks couldn't help a quiet laugh at the wording, which was met with Vegeta's angered, and somewhat confused frown. She shook her head and explained.
"I should return the favor and spell things too. Saiyans only have one name, right?" Vegeta confirmed. "Earthlings often have two names. One is the family name, and the other is the given name. Bulma-san's name is 'Bulma Brief'. Because of the inherited culture of the Brief family, as scientists and inventors, she takes great pride in her family name and accomplishments. Stating her full name is how she expresses she is above others because of her intelligence. Like you do, when-"
"When I state my title." Vegeta caught on. "So, your 'Trunks-fucking-Brief' brain?"
She wasn't ready for all of the joy she felt hearing her own name from Vegeta's mouth. She tried her best to contain it and give him an answer. "And my 'heir-of-the-Prince-of-all-Saiyans' blood. Yes. I think I figured it out, now."
"I will kill you if you chain yourself again," he threatened with crossed arms and a dark look. Breaking Trunks' mental walls had taken him far too long and he had no intentions of starting all over again against better and more prepared defenses. "You'll show me tomorrow."
He stood to leave, but she called out.
"Vegeta-san." When he looked back at Trunks, he saw hesitation. She didn't speak despite having his attention.
"Out with it, brat."
"Even if you aren't my father, you said our blood acknowledged our relation. It's.. it's ok, if I call you Father? It's only fair, since you call me your heir, even if I'm not your son." She tried justifying her selfish wish, even if she knew it would make things harder in the long run, her constant battle to correct herself was eating at her… And Vegeta knew it.
"Do whatever keeps you unbound."